My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark
by maxynepayne
Summary: Shawn gets shot on a case and, while on the threshold of life and death, meets reaper-for-a-day Dean Winchester. Hilarity, angst, and fluff ensue. Reaper!Dean One-shot.


My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark

Psych/Supernatural crossover

Shawn gets shot on a case and, while on the threshold of life and death, meets reaper-for-a-day Dean Winchester. Hilarity, angst, and fluff ensue. Reaper!Dean One-shot.

_'Well,' _Shawn thought as blackness clouded his vision and pain his senses, _'it makes sense that this is how I would go out.' _The feeling of falling into a dark, cold abyss was the last thing Shawn knew before he blacked out completely.

When he awoke, all was quiet. Bright white lights illuminated the clean-smelling room, which Shawn immediately recognised as a hospital room. _'Looks like I'm more resilient than I thought,' _he complimented himself as he got up from the actually comfortable bed and began to patter out to the hallway. There was no one to his left or right, but he could hear feet bustling and the swish of fabric against fabric further down the hall near a more lighted area. "Hello!" He cried out, making his way down to the light. "Anybody here? Can you hear me?"

Nobody seemed to notice the increasingly confused man-child when he reached the nurse's desk. All were too busy on computers, filing paperwork, writing on clipboards, chatting up the cute-and married-doctors. "Hey? Miss?" Shawn attempted to touch an orderly on the shoulder, but his hand _went right through her. _Recoiling in shock he stumbled back through a door into a room, where three people were hunched over a bed, the occupant asleep. "Oh, sorry, folks." He picked himself up and straightened his hospital clothes. "I didn't mean to-"

At the sight of who was in the bed, he froze. There, lying in the bed unconscious with all kinds of machines hooked up to him, was _Shawn. _And beside him on both sides of the bed, Gus, Lassiter, and his dad Henry. "What..." Slowly, he crept up to himself and tried to touch his face, and to his surprise, he could. "I feel like I'm in that movie _Awake _with that guy from _Jumper._"

Frowning, he straightened, hands upon his hips and bottom lip out. "I gotta find a way to get back in there."

"I don't think that's gonna happen, buddy."

A deep, masculine voice resonated inside of Shawn's ears, and he turned around to find the owner equally as masculine but beautiful in features. "If you're Death, I would kill myself more often." Shawn flirted as he strode over to the tall man.

He blushed and shook his head. "No, I'm not Death. Well, not this time. I'm a reaper for today."

"Oh. Well," Shawn lowered his head. He seemed, kind of sad. "Here to take me away to hell?"

This seemed to surprise the reaper, and his eyebrows furrowed quizzicaly. "Why do you think you'd go to hell?" He asked.

"I'm not exactly what you'd call a _model citizen. _I've lied to everyone I know and I leech off of my best friend. Also I'm not real religious."

The attractive man smirked. "I ain't exactly religious, either, or a model citizen. My whole life is a lie, in fact, but I've been to heaven more than a few times."

Shawn frowned. "How many times have you died?"

"More than you can count."

A chuckle from Shawn. "Huh." Smiling his signature charming grin, he held out his hand. "Shawn Spencer, psychic detective."

The other smiled wide in return. "Dean Winchester, reaper-for-a-day."

"And I thought _I _had an interesting job title."

Dean laughed lightly. "I've had many a questionable job title over the years."

"Same! Though most temporary." Shawn ran a hand through his perfectly styled hair and and sighed, blueish-green eyes coming to land on his companion. "So how does this work, exactly? Do I have a choice?" He questioned.

A shrug from Dean. "You always have a choice, though I don't recommend that route." He answered, sliding his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Emerald greens shimmered in the light of the hospital fluorescents, and for a moment Shawn wasn't as scared as he'd been.

"I don't want to go." Shawn whispered subconsciously as he stared up at the taller man.

There was a nod. Dean huffed a sigh and took Shawn under his arm, walking with him to the bed and sitting with him. "Listen, I know you're scared, Shawn, but you can't stay like this. Believe me, I know firsthand what it does to someone. You're best option is to move on. Heaven is great, man!"

From behind the two men, Lassiter woke from his sleep with dark circles beneath his eyes and swollen tear glands. He groaned, shifting in his seat and taking a look around before taking Shawn's hand into his own. Disembodied Shawn frowned deeply at the sight and mumbled, "Odd."

"Not your boyfriend?" Dean asked, also frowning. "He looked like he was."

"We're hardly friends." Shawn told him, shifting about to watch Lassie in a more comfortable position. Dean did the same with an interested expression.

Lassiter wiped his eyes with the base of his palm and grumbled to himself. "I can't believe I'm doing this right now. Holding your hand at your bedside, telling you that I-" he laughed sadly, fresh tears forming in his eyes, "telling you that I love you, you fucking child."

"Woah, what? Back up!" Shawn jumped up, hands and eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?! He-no! He can't-"

"Well, this is awkward." Dean breathed, rubbing his hands on his thighs.

"Why does he have to say that now that I'm dead?! Goddammit!" Hands thrown in the air, Shawn stormed out of the room, Dean following, stumbling.

"Uhh, Shawn-"

"I can't _freaking _believe this!"

"Shawn-"

"After all this time, all of the _chances _he fucking had-"

"Shawn!"

The psychic whipped around. "What?!"

Dean took a step back; this guy was scary when he was pissed. "We have to talk about you moving on."

Shawn made the "you've got to be fucking kidding me" expression. "No way in hell! With Lassie 'confessing' his love for me, my best friend Gus having no one else, and my dad needing someone to watch out for him, not to _mention _the police needing my help all the freaking time on their cases, also the FBI calling me in to look for a missing kid-which is why I got shot-there's no way I can leave! I've done good, goddammit, I deserve to live!"

Dean had expected this. Death said there would be rejection. "Look, man, I know you deserve to live. Everyone does. But for some, it's just their time. And this is yours."

Shawn began to breathe heavily, shoulders rising and falling visibly roughly. His nostrils flared and he shook his head. "No. No, this... this isn't right. I refuse to die! I WON'T!" As he yelled this, two windows blew out and the lights broke overhead. The floor shook, little light green bolts of power crackling from Shawn's eyes. Dean took another couple of steps back, hands out to signal the possibly not fake psychic to calm down.

"Woah, hey, Shawn. Let's not get vengeful."

Shawn seemed as shocked as the reaper. "How did I... do that?" He questioned.

"Heh, you tell me, buddy." Dean answered, lowering his hands but still wary of the man before him.

"I'm not even a real psychic... or maybe I was, but I didn't know it. Hella rad! Does that carry over to when I'm a ghost?" Shawn's fit of rage had seemingly died away.

"Uhh, I dunno. Only for a day, remember?"

"Right. Man, I wonder if I can make Lassie notice me." His eyes lit up. "I gotta go find out!" Off he dashed back to his room as nurses and security filed into the hallway to find out what had happened.

"Shawn! Goddammit!" Dean ran after him. When he reached the room, Shawn was manipulating a pencil to write on the clipboard at the foot of his bed. This puzzled the hunter, as it had taken his brother and him a long time just to be able to move a ball. He began to think that there was something this spirit was not telling him.

After writing on the clipboard, Shawn made it fall into Lassiter's field of vision. Lassie looked down and frowned, picking it up and reading the scrawled handwriting on it. When he had, he gasped and dropped the board. "Shawn?" He called quietly, eyes wide and disbelieving.

Shawn smiled giddily and picked up the pencil. He wrote "I love u 2 3" onto the board and pushed it to the detective, who picked it up and cried, anger, joy, and sadness making the tears burn and his throat constrict. "Dammit Spencer," he sobbed, "even beyond the grave you won't leave me alone."

Before Dean could stop him, Shawn hugged Lassiter. The salt-and-pepper-haired man was not prepared, so when he felt someone hug him but saw no one, he stiffened in shock. After a little while, however, he realised who was doing it and relaxed, smiling sadly. "Shawn," he whispered, his eyelids falling shut. Not two minutes later, he was asleep, dreamless and peaceful.

Dean watched this happen with a heavy heart; he knew this happiness would never last, as Bobby was a clear sign of that. All ghosts turned vengeful after a while. Although some manage to stave it off for a few years, maybe a decade, they would eventually give in. They always do. "Shawn, I'm sorry." He apologised.

"I'm not leaving. You can't make me." Shawn bluntly put his back turned.

Something in his voice chilled Dean to his core. "I know you love your life, but you can't stay like this forever. You'll turn vengeful-"

Icy wind blew through the small room as Shawn turned at his waist to face the temporary reaper. His eyes were glowing green, the same colour crackling around him and from his eyes. _"Who says I haven't already?"_

His voice was layered and terrifying to listen to, and before Dean could recover and react he was being zapped through a swirl of light green and knocked out.

He awoke sometime later in the "batcave", surrounded by Death, Sammy, and Kevin. "You lost one," Death stated matter-of-factly.

"He zapped me! You never said I would be handling an actual psychic with superpowers!" Dean got up off of his bed and threw on his jacket.

"Where are you going?" Sam fell into step beside his brother, also putting on his coat.

"To Santa Barbara to find that little double-crosser. Kevin, man the bunker, we'll be back!"

Kevin sighed tiredly and walked to his room to translate the tablet, Death disappearing and reappearing with food for them both.

A few days later, Dean and Sam showed up in Santa Barabara, heading to the Psych office, which was where the paper said Shawn Spencer still worked with his partner Burton Guster after making his "miraculous" recovery.

They pulled up outside and made their way inside, Sam having to remind him that Shawn may not remember what had happened and that it wasn't Shawn's fault, he was upset and in love and it could've happened to anyone, even themselves and to _slow the fuck down there's a car coming. _

"Sam, that was no vengeful spirit shit. He had _glowing eyes _with _fucking lightning _coming from them. He was some kind of telepath or something, and I'm gonna find out just exactly what the hell he is." Dean growled, throwing the door open and practically stomping inside.

Just as they'd reached the main office area, a tall-ish man with perfect brown hair and powdery blue eyes popped up in front of Dean with a grin. "Well hey, look who it is! Reaper-for-a-day Deany! Still looking scrumptilicious and pretty. Did anyone ever tell you that you look like a male model?" The man now recognised as Shawn Spencer babbled, poking Dean in the chest.

Dean growled at the contact and stepped forward, green eyes sparking in irritation. "We gotta talk, 'psychic detective'." He ground out.

"Dean," Sammy warned.

"Sure! But I just wanna say, first of all that yourrrr brother? Yah, brother reminds me of Sasquatch. Also a moose. Can I call him Bigfoot? Oooh! How about Ken?"

"God, do you ever _shut up?" _Dean gripped the man by the shoulder and pushed him into a sitting position onto the sofa.

"My ADHD doesn't let me. One time I talked for a whole day about The Hunger Games when it came out until Lassie knocked me out, but even then Gus said I was mumbling while I was out-"

Dean whipped out his pistol and waved it in front of the man-child's face. "You see this? This is gun. If you don't shut up, I will shoot you in your goddamn leg."

"Woah, hey, no need to get violent, it's just a thing I have. When I'm in high-risk situations I talk. A lot. One time I was shot in the shoulder and kidnapped and my talking almost got me killed, but unfortunately the guy that I was talking to got shot instead. It's too bad, he was a nice guy, but hey, ends well that all's well or something like that-"

Dean cocked his gun and aimed it at the fake psychic's leg. "I _swear _to God I will shoot you."

"Dean, calm down. Violence obviously isn't going to work on this guy." Sam put his hand in Dean's forearm and pushed it down.

"Uh, I have a name!"

"Don't." Sam held up his hand.

Shawn raised his hands briefly before resting them on his thighs and fidgeting with his fingers, eyes wandering around the room.

"So how did you get back into your body, Shawn? Yaknow, _after_ you zapped me back to our hideout? How did you even know where to send me, anyway?" Dean inquired of the man-child.

"Firstly, I have no idea. All I did was think, 'I want to be back in there' and I was. Nextly, I just wanted you to go back to wherever you came from, so that kinda answers both questions." Shawn's eyes flickered green for a split second as he recalled the events. Sam caught it and raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, but _how? How?" _Dean pressed.

"I don't know! OK? I don't! I'm not even a real psychic, so I don't know how I can even do that!" Shawn confessed, his body gesticulating wildly.

"Telepath?" Sam offered.

"Can't read minds," The chubby male shrugged.

"Telekinesis is the inly one that makes sense, but the only other telekinetic I've ever heard of is the one that had the demon blood like you used to." Dean put in, tucking his uncocked gun back into his waistband.

Outside, a taxi pulled up. Shawn jumped up and smiled. "Lassie!" He cried, mini-clapping with a giggle.

"Wait-_Lassie? _The guy you kicked me back to the bunker for? You're together?"

The detective half-shrugged. "We're not at the labeling stage yet, per say, but yeah," he gushed.

"Huh," Sam crooked his jaw and elbowed Dean in the ribs.

"Shut up." Dean grumbled beneath his breath.

To the door Shawn pranced, ripping open the door and throwing himself into the surprised arms of the head detective. "Ahhgh! Dammit, Spencer!" He cried irritably.

"Oops, sorry, our magnet of love is too strong. Can't-pull-_away," _Shawn pretnded to be unable to pull away from his sort-of boyfriend, smiling with his cheek pressed to the man's suited chest. Lassiter rolled his eyes and patted Shawn on the back.

"Alright alright, let go now. _Now." _He pulled Shawn off of him and dusted himself off. Shawn didn't seem the least bit bothered, still smiling and holding the other man's hand. This Lassiter allowed. Clearing his throat, he waved. "Hello. I am Head Detective of the Santa Barbara police department Carlton Lassiter."

Sam waved, hitting Dean to do the same. "Uh, hi. We were just here to congratulate Mr. Spencer here on his recovery." Sam explained.

"Oh. Past clients, or...?" Lassiter questioned.

"More like surprise friends," Dean clarified through his teeth, shooting a we're-not-finished-here glare to Shawn, who waggled his fingers. Taking a card from the many in a stack on the desk behind him, Sam grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him toward the door around the couple. "We'll be in touch."

"Bye, Deany! See you later!" Shawn called after them.

"Oh that is IT!" Dean took out his gun and aimed it at Shawn shouting curses.

"Dean! No!" Sam held him around the waist and pulled him out of the door.


End file.
